A Strange Reunion
by It'sTimeToDance
Summary: Old friends have a funny way of popping back into your life. Oneshot.


**A Strange Occurrence **

**By: Your worst nightmare, fool **

Bruce Wayne sat back in his seat, regally facing the whole of the table, and full view of the wall window on the opposite end of the pent house office. A stout man somewhere in his thirties fumbled with his charts, staring intently at his shoes as he pointed a meaty finger every which way. To be completely fair, Bruce didn't even know what it was the company was selling him. He let his lawyers discuss the presentation, though they seemed overtly irritated by something or another.

As the head of his father's company, Alfred had insisted, he was 'morally and finacially obligated' to attend some of these meetings, try as he might to avoid them. He felt he'd already paid his dues, with the last he'd been forced into nine months ago. Something about a line of superhero bobbleheads, it had droned on for, literally, six hours. How his father did it, he'd never possibly know.

Buisness, like the whole of life, was increasingly dull, and gave no signs of livening up. Even his nightly stalks about Gotham seemed reutine.

Bruce, more out of curiousity then any real interest, slipped back into the mindless rant of false buisness claims and stock market numbers.

"Our stocks...er...are..." the little man stuttered, his beefy hand accidentally knocking the posterboard from canvas stand, and he rushed to collect it, placing it back to the bit of wood upside down. Ah, Bruce thought, now it get's interesting...

Crash!

The skylining window at the opposite end of the table, the glass raining down on the suits closest. The men beside him shrieked, diving from their seats, onto the shining alluminum floor. A body, the source of the crash, slide down the twelve foot table at an allarming speed, causing Bruce to dive from his own chair to the ground, feeling a stray piece of broken glass to cut through his suit sleeve.

The body, Bruce could tell, was reletviley young, by the size. A boy, his hair was short from the back, black strands glistening purple under the alarmingly bright shine of the lights. He quickly, if stiffly, jumped to a crouch, a horribly familiar stance that made Bruce's stomach twist.

Before he could think more of it, another body flung itself towards the boy through the gap in the window. Both crashed back into the wall with a sickening crack. Both grunted.

The latter body, bigger, was flung once again across the room, as the boy tumbled to the ground, rolling into a hasty crouch before leaping to the air, his bo staff materializing in his hand and coming down--hard--on the back of the man. He grunted, curving his thick fingers around the end of the staff and flinging the boy to the side, sending the men on the floor scrambling for coveramong the shards of glass and unaccecable table.

The boy rebounded the wall with his feet, expertly flipping through the air, spinning his heels the moment they tipped the floor, lifting his leg to a swinging high kick, just as the man lept at him with a raspy shriek. His head jerked to the side at the inpact. A wad of blood flung from his mouth, landing on one man's clean, shining smart shoes.

The man's arm--covered with a piss yellow spandex sleeve--instinctivley swung wildly, hitting the boy on one side of his shoulder. Both stumbled in either directions, the man tumbling backwards, back into his defensive position in moments. The boy, however, clashed violently with the corner of the wall, elongated cracks splitting up the heavy steal several feet in all directions. He grunted, clutching his arm, offering an irritated scowl at his attacker, as though the clearly broken limb was a minor inconvienence.

Some men, the ones closest to the door, fought their own losing battle with the knob, jammed by splinters of wood leading towards the indent to the wall.

Bruce, however, watched as the boy, expertly spiraling through the space between he and the man, his staff hitting him square in the chest with a sickening crack. The man fell back, jumping back to his feet and swinging a roundhouse straight at the boys head, his neck jerking to the side like a teatherball.

The boy yelped, following the direction of the kick straight to the ground, sliding along the smooth metal tiles, across the room until he was inches from the jagged hole in the glass wall.

Bruce winced, his stomach empathetically twisting as he heard yet another crack. The boy, who couldn't be older then fourteen, lay motionless.

The man, who Bruce could see wore a mask, half rusted copper, half shining black, a red eye slit etched into one side, and small, deep blue lines making up a twisted, unreal smile, like demented clown face, stalked the distance between the two. Despite what had to be broken ribs, he seemed unnusually comfortable. Confident.

Bruce's heart lept for a moment, staring with a new sense of horror as the raven-haired boy remained still, the dull sunshine bathing him like a grim spotlight.

As the man stopped inches from the boy's hand, a slight chuckle stifled through his mask, the boy's fingers curled around his ankle at such a lightening fast speed Bruce suspected that if he had blinked, he would have missed it. With a quick jerk of his elbow, the man was flung into the window, creating a separate hole inches from the previous, a new shower of glass shards raining down on the frightened buisness man, now pressed up against the opposing wall as though it were the soul thing keeping them from the pits of hell.

The boy, in one fluid motion, lept to his feet, rolling his head on the neck, as though to check if it were still there. His eyes, through the domino mask covering them, glanced at the broken glass wall behind him. If he spotted Bruce, he gave no indication. He stayed stoic, any emotion indistinguishable. When he spoke, it was like a cool whisper, much like Bruce's own, "Sorry about the window."

Although it was to the general group, Bruce knew, to a certain digree, that Robin was talking to him, a discreet message hidden in the casual words. Before Bruce could respond, a blur of purple and red flew past the window, grabbing hold of Robin's arm, gliding past like a hawk and out of sight.

**THIS IS A ONESHOT!!! **

**I am so sick of people 'alert'ing my stories when, clearly, right on top, it says COMPLETE! I don't know if your retarded, or what, but seriously, you alerting this fifty times will not make me continue. **

**Other then that, this is really just a scenerio I had in my head for a while, so I thought I'd write it down. Hope you like, if you don't, oh well, you still got stuck reading it :P**


End file.
